I'm 52 years old today...

And, oddly enough, I've outlived Michael Jackson.





And Farah Fawcett.

And George Armstrong Custer, who died 133 years ago today.

Life's weird, ain't it?

Full disclosure: I never liked Michael Jackson's music, but I will grant that he knew how to perform and I did not.

But...what will the comics do? The plastic surgeons?

A man who brought humor to many with his profound weirdness (brought about, to be sure, by the oddly tortured existence he was mired in and to whatever extent he led) has died.

"Jacko" (one of the few things the NY Daily News and the NY Post could agree on was Jackson's tabloid moniker) is dead.

There's a huge subplot here, no doubt, tell-all books, movie biopics, whole new areas of merchandise.

We'll all be dead soon enough - too soon. My genetic legacy does not lend itself to the lives of those Georgians or Armenians in Dannon yogurt commericals...



Suzuki Shosan was right: you will die. Live as if that were an immutable fact.

Because it is, at least for the foreseeable few decades for most people.